Prophecy
by Derry
Summary: In the countless days acoming, All things will end and begin. All is observed and accounted, And the World must pay for its sins.


**Title: **Prophecy

**Author/Seer:** Derry

**Disclaimer:** Winchesters? I don't think I actually mentioned any Winchesters, except the city in England which scarcely counts. But if I did mention any people called Winchester, then I wouldn't claim to own them. Here endeth the disclaimer.

**Spoilers: **Probably spoilers for just about EVERYTHING, if you read between the lines. Maybe even some speculation about things yet to come - well, such is the nature of prophecy, isn't it?

**Rating: **It could probably score a K+ since there's not really anything to corrupt children. Confuse them, perhaps. Corrupt them, no.

**Author's notes:** Okay, I seriously don't know where this came from. I had a vague idea to write a ficlet for _Supernatural_ but I was thinking more along the lines of a light and humorous prank-playing vignette. Then yesterday I found myself musing about how this show hasn't (so far) really delved into the idea of archaic prophecies as shows of the genre often do. And for some reason I then got the Sybilline verses from the first chapter of _I, Claudius_ stuck in my head. And then for the past two days, these little rhyming phrases kept popping into my head (and distracting me at work) and so I've been jotting them down (in between trying to do my job -sigh-). And I confess that I'm minorly freaked because I don't think I've felt the need to write semi-poetical rhyming stuff since I was a teenager (and you can all stop sniggering now!). But this stuff just kept hijacking my brain! Yes, what follows really are the ravings of a madwoman. That aspect is not entirely fabricated. Oh, and BTW, before any scholarly types might feel the need to point it out, I don't for a moment believe that this in any way represents accurate Middle English. It's merely the quasi-poetic mutterings of my strange mind. I think I might have even thrown some limericks in there...

* * *

_ Being the words of Mary Goodchild  
excommunicated and burned at the stake for heresy and witchcraft  
before the Cathedral in Winchester  
this Second day of November in the Year of Our Lord 1483._

In the countless days a-coming  
All things will end and begin  
All is observed and accounted  
And the World must pay for its sins

Mothers will burn  
Fathers will weep  
Flames will consume where the Children sleep

None will know aught  
And all be a-feared  
Until the eyes of one father are cleared

His children will be spared the damnation  
His children will be spared not at all  
He will see the worst of the darkness  
And know what soon must befall

And Innocence willingly suffers  
Sacrificed for sins none of theirs  
Two souls bound in pain and forged in the flame  
The World comes as close as it dares

To the Firstborn, a burden of love in his arms  
To the Younger, a burden of pain in his heart  
With their father, they travel the darkest of roads  
The journey will tear them apart

Seeking only the shadows and darkness  
One will continue the Fight  
Reaching out for hope and redemption  
One will fall in his search for the Light

A Trickster's cunning  
A Warrior's heart  
True innocent devotion with a Sinner's smile

A Scholar's learning  
A Prophet's eyes  
The doubt of the Stricken with the faith of a child

On roads where the faithless are lost  
Faith will be kindled anew  
What was forgot will then be remembered  
One and One will be again Two

Innocence drawn from deep water  
The guilty with blood in their eyes  
Shape for the shapeless  
Creatures of Earth  
Devils that fall from the Sky

The Righteous will hunt for their blood  
Evil will give them its name  
All of their deeds unknown to the world  
Which unknowing, continues the same

Death comes to the doorway and is turned away  
Another takes Death by the hand  
Death comes to the doorway and chooses to stay  
In the still beating heart of a man

And death of the Father binds more than life  
That death holds both souls in its thrall  
The soul of the Younger is bound to the Path  
The Firstborn one step from the Fall

The danger comes not from the Doubt  
The peril comes not from the Fear  
True menace comes from Children and Faith  
And Whispers no other souls hear

Called to the Legion of Children  
Summoned by eyes of bright flame  
None stand alone  
Darkness calls One of Two  
Beckoned by blood and his name

Sacrifice must not be made blindly  
Such gifts are for cowards and churls  
In the stead of the One, Two must stand firm  
Therein lies the Fate of the World

The outcome for all remains clouded  
None know whether Justice will be  
The face of the World after battle is done  
Is what only the victors will see

But all the Two are must be given  
Nothing held back from the Fight  
What endures through pain, through the Darkness  
Must endure for love, for the Light

The Fate of the World to be lost or won  
In battles of Blood, Words and Dreams  
Brother to Brother, Father to Son  
The Unbound cannot know what this means


End file.
